


The Mark

by flowercrownedskull



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Coz canonverse IGNORES Castiel's perspective all the time, Gen, M/M, This fic is about Castiel saving Dean from Hell, WE NEED CASTIEL'S PERSPECTIVE AT LEAST 15 TIMES EACH SEASON, Yo paisan, i really want to write for real spn ok?, my version of things
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-03
Updated: 2016-06-03
Packaged: 2018-07-11 14:02:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7055446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flowercrownedskull/pseuds/flowercrownedskull
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>''When Castiel laid a hand on you in hell he was lost!''</p>
<p>Not true. He was found.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Mark

  
It was a tumultuous day in heaven. Castiel’s wings were free from the confines of the human vessel. His blade reflected the crackling of a demon as it died in his choke hold. He didn’t like killing like this. But it was instinctual.

‘You fight like those street goons in the human world, brother.’

Ion had chuckled the remark and Castiel had stared at him in confusion before ignoring him. Breaking the wall guarding Hell’s fourth circle was tough. But he pulled it off and his garrison had poured in like water in through a fissure in a dam. Hell’s minions had slithered speedily and fires were rekindled.

_My wings would burn if I’ll fly too low._ It wasn’t apprehension. It was mere acknowledgement of facts. He had to save his wings till he could pull the righteous soul out. He had to save the soul before it would finish torturing the sinner it was torturing.

_I can feel it, Castiel._ Raphael muttered in his head. But Castiel was already far ahead of his brother. He flew faster than ever before. Ash from incinerated souls clung to his being. The smells were were so bad they could drive an angel to insanity. But none of that mattered. Castiel’s focus never wavered. His eyes, his grace, his limbs; all trained into the direction of a beacon that was quickly developing cracks in its visage. The cracks had started to ooze black smoke.

For a while Castiel was surprised at his own conviction. Moments later he realized he was gravitating towards the beacon. That somehow fueled his determination and he wrapped a limb around the soul as blood, smoke and grace spilled around them.

Daemon ovas screamed and crawled startlingly fast around both of them. His grace was hit by pin pricks of demonic spells. He fought. He brandished his blade and slashed though smoke and flesh. But they kept tugging at the soul, trying to pull it from his hold. It seemed like a never ending ordeal.

So Castiel did something he never thought he would do. He let his grace entwine around the righteous soul and spelled a claim mark. This was questionable decision, but it was critical. Demon spawns couldn’t touch the soul anymore and he found his window to get out of the chaos.

_Dean Winchester is saved!_ It was either a cry in exaltation or a cry of relief. Castiel didn’t know.

Healing the soul was surprisingly difficult. There were cracks to close, and cuts to sew… Castiel had numbed the soul’s conscious before he started repairing it. When he finally let his grace wash over the wounds Hell and Earth had inflicted, he was left with a body.

Armor for his brother, Michael.

Castiel suddenly knew that description was inappropriate; insulting even. Discomfort rattled his grace. He frowned at human in his arms.

But it wasn’t until the righteous man opened his eyes, that everything changed. They were green. And Castiel’s lips sealed shut in response. He waited for the man to acknowledge him. But the man stared unblinkingly.

_Castiel, you need to take him back. Now._ Raphael’s voice carried urgency. Castiel’s grace still felt odd after the minute epiphanies. He greeted Dean Winchester and offered him camaraderie and good wishes. Dean Winchester’s blank eyes didn’t show acknowledgement.

So Castiel flew down to Earth crashing the trees around Dean Winchester’s grave. The flattened vegetation smoked for a while. The grave warmed up under Castiel’s ministrations. Seven earth minutes of oxygen flowed in the confines of the coffin.

And then the Heavenly Host summoned Castiel back.

While Dean Winchester dug out of his own grave, Castiel explained to his brothers that marking the human soul was only to defend it in hell.

_Of course it was defense! What else would it be? Intent was to save the soul. Everything that was done was done to achieve that goal. The mark will be used to anchor the human so that he easily permits Michael to possess him._

Graces bloomed in excitement and fervor. The absence of God was a bitter aftertaste everyone ignored. Castiel was immediately sent down to steer Dean Winchester to his destiny. Garrisons prepared for war.

Dean ran the tips of his fingers lightly at the hand print. It felt tender like a burn. But it didn’t hurt. Not really. But there was the constant sensation of a strong hold, a phantom grip…

Castiel planned all the steps that would lead to an ideal first meeting on earth. Dean would remember him from Hell. And he’ll tell him his side of the story. His form rattled with heightened energy. He spoke but Dean couldn’t hear him.

The odd feeling remained. It festered like a wound. He told Uriel about it whilst examining his palm. Uriel called it _a side effect of inhaling Earth’s air. It drives you off the proverbial cliff, Castiel. Remember Anael?_ Uriel had asked.

Yes, he remembered. Castiel remembered rosy, opalescent wings and poised limbs of his sister. Castiel remembered them as they ripped from her grace and fell like autumn leaves fall from a tree. He straightened his back and went to find his vessel. It was time to focus on the task at hand.

When Dean stabbed him, he paused. It was astonishing, the amusement of the entire situation. The barn had so many symbols painted on it’s walls. None of them were Enochian. He focused on Dean Winchester and his odd green eyes.

_I am the one who gripped you tight and raised you from perdition._

_I am an angel of the Lord._

The lack of recognition bought disappointment. The hostility left him reeling, but only slightly.

Castiel searched for a focus. He had claimed that he’d use his mark on Dean as his anchor. But he couldn’t. Instead he focused on the green of the eyes.

They held rebellion, they held stubbornness, they held an ocean of guilt, they held devotion… They burned with a force that reminded Castiel of the time Dean’s soul had been brighter than eternal hell fire.

So he stopped fighting humanity’s side effects. The oddness manifested itself in his vessel’s chest cavity. He went by his days doing everything he shouldn’t have done.

Humanity’s biggest quality is love. Angels’ biggest attribute is their devotion. On that day when he had led the siege to hell, he had created something accidentally. Angelic devotion had crashed into human love. It had created a bond so deep and so eternal, that it had shifted the entire equation of universe’s existence.

Then again, objectively speaking, things still go by as laws of modern physics say they would.

But Cas knew.

It was like Dean Winchester had created a new element altogether. An element that God hadn’t foreseen. But the element existed now and it had the energy to run the speck of universe they inhabited.

So it was okay.

His wings were ashen. His grace was damaged. But Dean remained. His humanity had warmth he could bask in.

It was so trivial, so ordinary according from an angelic perspective. But it was good. It was the purest, sincerest kind of good that he had experienced.

When Fates asked him why had he decided to stay on Earth, he had shrugged. _I just want to protect Dean._

_But that’s too selfless, Castiel._

They were wrong. It wasn’t selfless at all.


End file.
